


Fade Into You

by keenwonderlandcollector



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: 1930s, F/F, Implied homophobia, M/M, Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, Starker, War, serious injury, starker au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29219085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keenwonderlandcollector/pseuds/keenwonderlandcollector
Summary: Tony Stark & Peter Parker are best friends, growing up in the 1930's in a small village in England.They've always been close, more than they perhaps should be.Time passes and the boys find themselves seperated, until they're brought back together again after years apart, with some serious changes..
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	Fade Into You

**Author's Note:**

> So, the other day, I saw a gif which was reblogged on tumblr by my lovely darling friend @thatrandomsomnia (go check our her blog if you can it's beautiful) and I just mentioned to her that I got this idea in my head about Starker in the English countryside in the 1930′s. Long story short, we started talking about it and throwing some ideas out, what kind of story would it be, etc. and then I was like okay I need to write this and here we are, 6.5k words later! I want to just give ran SO much credit for coming up with like 99% of the ideas, finding amazing photos for the moodboard and for generally being a sweetheart 💛
> 
> Enjoy!

Anthony Edward Stark and Peter Benjamin Parker first met in September 1926 in the village of Bibury, located in Gloucestershire, England. It was the first day of school for the two boys, five years old and full of nervous excitement. 

Peter had clung on to his mother’s skirt, his big brown eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and fear. His brown curls had been combed into submission but threatened to break free at any moment. His grey shorts and white short-sleeved shirt were both loose on him tucked in hastily. His white socks were pulled up high on his skinny legs (well, one was already falling down while the other didn’t look much steadier) and his black shoes looked a little scuffed around the edges despite the light sheen of polish. 

Tony had stood beside Mrs. Jenkins, a matronly woman who had been employed by Tony’s father to look after the boy since Mrs. Stark had passed away when Tony was only a year old. Tony’s hair had been neatly combed back, his shirt and shorts perfectly tailored to him, his socks held up tight. His shoes gleamed, looking brand new. Mrs. Jenkins was dab hand at making things look more expensive than they really were.

While Peter had been more nervous, Tony was fearless. He had bid farewell to Mrs. Jenkins and noticed Peter still clinging to his mother’s skirt, the woman gently trying to encourage Peter to go and meet his new classmates. Tony had walked right over to Peter with a wide smile on his face.

“I’m Tony. I’m going to go sit over there,” He pointed to a pair of wooden desks by the window, looking out onto the green field outside before holding out his hand to Peter. “do you want to sit next to me?”

Peter hadn’t said anything, just looked at Tony with those big brown eyes and slowly let go of his mother’s skirt. He’d taken the other boy’s hand without a second thought, the two of them walking over to the desk and sitting down, Tony chatting away while Peter slowly smiled. Peter’s mother had smiled as she watched them, giving Peter a wave before leaving the classroom with the other women.

From that first class, when their teacher, Miss Lewis (who would go on to be spoken about by the pair in years to come, from her kind nature, her patience, her pretty looks, her youthful exuberance) asked if everyone was comfortable sitting where they were and Peter had been the one to say that he and Tony were to stay deskmates.

They always sat together at school, from Miss Lewis all the way to Mr. Clarke (Who was much older, less patient and far less attractive than Miss Lewis) when they were fifteen. After that Tony found himself sitting alone, nobody could match up to Peter’s deskmate skills.

Peter hadn’t wanted to leave school, he was certainly bright enough to continue on. Even Mr. Clarke had shed his usual gruff demeanor and tried to convince Peter to stay on for the last couple of years. Tony had begged him to stay on, not wanting to continue on without this best friend by his side. But there was no other choice. Peter’s father had been killed in the Great War and his mother already worked herself to the bone to support them, holding down at least two jobs at any given time. They needed the money, and Peter could never have afforded to go to University anyway, so what was the point in finishing school? He picked up a job at Powell’s, the village shop, delivering newspapers in the mornings and then working in the shop/delivering groceries around the village throughout the afternoon. 

He always finished in time to go and meet Tony from school, the other boy draping his arm around Peter’s shoulder as he laughed at Peter’s various stories from the day, the two of them heading over to Tony’s house to have dinner. Sometimes they went to Peter’s, either way Mrs. Parker would be at work or Howard would be at the pub (On the rare occasions Tony’s father was actually at home they never stayed long) But, a big draw for going to Tony’s was the fact that Mrs. Jenkins always had something delicious ready, a stew or a cottage pie, the heavenly scents wafting down the garden path as the boys approached, more than willing to stuff their faces. Mrs. Jenkins had always had a propensity for giving Peter a little more, noticing the way his simple shirts and pants always hung loose, his elbows sticking out as he wolfed down whatever was put in front of him.

After dinner, particularly in the warmer months, they’d take their bikes and head down to a sprawling meadow full of fresh, lush grass and swathes of bright white daisies twirled amongst it. 

As the bikes lay side by side up against the fence, tangled together, the two teens would head into the field, the sun hanging warm in the sky as Tony would sit down on the grass, slinging his brown leather satchel from across his body and dropping it down on the grass to take out whatever it was he was due to study for the evening. He’d sit back on one his hand, holding the book in the other as Peter lay down, resting his head in Tony’s lap and looking up at the clouds drifting by lazily. 

Peter would talk about anything and everything that came into his mind. His eyes always lit up when he talked about seeing the world. That was something he always wanted to do. Tony too. America, France, India, anywhere and everywhere they could possibly visit in one lifetime. Paris was Peter’s dream destination to visit. 

One time Tony teased him about it, saying it was only because Peter wanted to see the Moulin Rouge. Peter had muttered under his breath about Tony being an idiot as the tips of his ears flushed pink.

They never talked much about it again. They never really talked about that kind of thing. Peter knew Tony had kissed Ginny Potts at the village fête when they were 13. Peter had never kissed anyone.

They never really talked about that kind of thing.

Some afternoons, they brought sandwiches and apples, had a little picnic like they used to when they were children. Younger children, anyway. Peter always ate the apple first (the red one, which he didn’t actually like, but he knew Tony loved the green one) and Tony muttered under his breath if the sandwiches were fish paste, eating them with a grimace as Peter laughed and called him a baby. 

Occasionally, Peter would sit across from Tony, poking his tongue out when the other boy looked at him, keeping himself occupied by linking the daisies together in simple chains. Sometimes he made them crowns, the two of them sitting side by side, daisies adorning their curls as they read. They were always gently draped on the fence post as they left the field, a steady pile of them gathering.

One time Tony forgot to take his off before going home, getting into a shouting match with his father and sporting a black eye the next. Peter didn’t say anything about it.

He stopped making crowns after that.

On very warm evenings, they skipped the meadow and went to a small lake about a mile outside the village. It was secluded, a huge willow tree shading it that they rested their bikes against before stripping down to their underwear and jumping in.

They were never shy about being undressed around each other. Ever since they were young children they’d go swimming together, or have to get changed at school for games. Sometimes, after they’d been playing together after school, adventuring, as they insisted, and getting covered in dirt and muck Mrs. Jenkins would make them strip down in the back garden and put them into the old tin bath, scrubbing them clean. 

When they got older they stopped having baths together, Peter insisting he could have one at home instead, blushing as he shuffled back down the path, leaving small muddy footprints in his wake. 

Both of them always adored the lake. Once they got old enough to be allowed to go by themselves they always took every opportunity. They never really swam properly, choosing to mess around splashing each other. Sometimes Peter would attempt to climb onto Tony’s shoulders, shrieking with laughter as Tony always waited until the last minute to flip him back into the water. Other times Peter would hold onto Tony as he dramatically surged across the water, Peter sighing dramatically like a damsel in distress, clinging on to Tony and pressing his cheek against Tony’s. 

Tony never seemed to mind. 

The sun would always be beginning its descent by the time they were ready to get out of the water. One time, after a particularly..clingy encounter in the lake, Tony noticed Peter was bright red and slightly shaky, grabbing his towel from his bag and wrapping it around Peter, rubbing him dry. The last thing he needed was for Peter to get sick. Once Peter was dry, Tony had kissed his forehead. He didn’t even know why really. Maybe he was just trying to be comforting. Peter had frozen for a moment before kissing Tony’s cheek and murmuring a quiet ‘thank you.’

Tony was the first to turn 18. May 29, 1939. He’d finished school, all set to head off to University in London in September. He and Peter hadn’t talked about it much. 

Tony’s actual birthday was on a Monday, but he decided to celebrate on the Sunday instead, when Peter didn’t have to work. He snuck two bottles of beer and some crisps into a bag and met Peter out at the meadow. 

Despite Tony’s insistence it wasn’t necessary, Peter had still given him a gift. It was a photograph of the two of them at the  fête the previous summer, dressed in their slightly shabby suits in an attempt to look older and more sophisticated than they were. Tony had his arm around Peter’s shoulder Peter’s arm clinging to Tony’s waist. They were laughing about something long forgotten. Tony had smiled wide when Peter gave him to photograph, his thumb lightly tracing over it before he tucked it into his shirt pocket, wanting to keep it safe.

Peter had attempted to make a cake, he warned, before presenting a very ornate looking sponge cake that Tony was immediately suspicious of until Peter revealed shyly that Mrs. Jenkins had actually made it after Peter’s attempt almost burnt down his mother’s kitchen

So they drank nowhere near enough beer to get drunk and picked at the cake with their hands, Peter flicking bits of cream at Tony until the boy retaliated, grabbing Peter’s hands and pushing him down onto his back, reaching for the cake and scooping up some cream. As he looked back to Peter he realised the boy was looking at him with half lidded eyes, his pink lips slightly parted. The cream quickly melted in Tony’s hand, forgotten. 

Time had stood still for a moment when Tony kissed his best friend. His only real friend. The person he cared about most in the world. It hadn’t lasted long, the kiss. Tony had pulled away after a moment, fear gripping him. 

He'd messed up the best thing to ever happen to him. He’d mumbled an apology, quickly scrambling to his feet and making a hasty retreat to his bike. He thought Peter called after him but he wasn’t sure. All he could hear was his own heartbeat in his ears.

It was the following afternoon before Peter got a chance to visit Tony. Only, Tony wasn’t home. 

Mrs. Jenkins informed Peter, with a slight wobble in her voice, that Tony had left the village that morning, heading to the train station. He’d asked her to tell Peter that was sorry, Peter barely taking in the message as he slowly walked back down the path.

He’d lost everything.

_ Sunday, April 15th 1945 _ .

_ Dear Peter, _

~~_ Another week, another letter I tell myself I will send yet know that I won’t. _ ~~

_ I hope this letter finds you as well as you can be in these dark times. I still naively hold out hope that you’re not caught up in all this and if you are that somehow, some way, you’re safe.  _

_ You always hated war. I’m sure you hate it more now. Sometimes I worry I’m becoming numb to it. Some days men will be blown apart right in front of me and I don’t even blink. I hear the cries, the shouts and screaming, the bombs shattering the ground and the guns never ceasing and I just close my eyes and think about being back in that meadow we used to spend hours in.  _ ~~_ Do you ever think about it?  _ ~~

~~_ Do you ever think about me as I think of you so often  _ ~~

_ I thought I saw you the other day. I saw the soft brown curls and tall, awkward body and while it could have been any number of people I thought in my  _ _ heart _ _ mind it was you. It wasn’t of course, but I thought about it being you and.. _

_ I hope you don’t hate me, still. Maybe you never hated me, you just stopped liking me. I can’t imagine you hating anyone. You hate things but people..you were always much more willing to just let things go than I was.  _ _ Until I let you go. _

_ Tomorrow is a big day, apparently. Big push forward. The usual gung-ho attitude. Easy for them, they just give the orders, they aren’t the ones carrying them out. Sometimes I forget where we are, it all blends into one after a while. Endless fields, endless towns, cities, destruction everywhere. _

_ I hope when all this is over, should it ever end, should you and I survive..we should be able to perhaps be  _ ~~_ able to rekindle our relationship _ ~~ _ friends once more. _

~~_ Yours with the greatest affection _ ~~

_ Tony.  _

Once he’d sealed the letter inside the envelope and scrawled the address of Peter’s childhood home on it, Tony placed it with the stack of others he’d built up. He’d lost some over the years, others had been destroyed, but still he persisted with writing them, knowing they’d never be sent. He reached into his jacket, fingers feeling around for the small photograph, taking it out and gently running his thumb over it. It was slightly faded now, a small tear in the top left corner, but the smiles were still visible.

-

The tank rumbled along the small road in the Italian countryside, the truck ambling slowly behind it. Tony sat at the back of the truck, looking out on the hills, the sun warm. He often thought how nice it would be to visit here under different circumstances. Peter would love it. He was always the adventurer.

The men beside him were talking amongst each other as Tony tuned out, his fingers drumming against his leg. 

The shout should’ve been their first warning. 

But noises like that weren’t unusual, even on the quiet roads.

The next noise was louder, coming from the front of the tank. 

They’d barely made it out of the truck before the bomb hit.

The smoke, yelling, screaming, guns all blurred into one as Tony slowly opened his eyes, groaning softly as he felt a searing pain from his left side. He could feel something quite soft beneath him, he must’ve been knocked into the field by the road. The sky was so blue above him, the sparse clouds drifting by slowly. 

His entire body felt heavy as he slowly lifted his right arm to claw at his jacket, reaching inside and dragging out the photograph, holding it against his chest before looking at it, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes.

“Mr. Stark?”

Slowly, Tony blinked awake, wincing at the bright light above him.

“Mr. Stark.”

He looked over to his right, finding a man who looked to be in about his fifties, dressed in a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck and large, round glasses perched on his nose. 

“Where am I?” Tony frowned, his head feeling heavy, his boy feeling numb. 

“You’re at the Medbay now, Mr. Stark, I’m Dr. Ellis.”

“What happened? We were..” Tony tried to sit up, the doctor gently easing him back down. 

“Steady, Mr. Stark. You were in a serious incident, you’re lucky to be alive.”

Tony closed his eyes and it flooded back to him quickly, taking a deep breath. 

“Is there..” He frowned at the dizziness in his head, a warmth spreading through him after a moment that made him relax a small bit more. “do I..”

“Mr. Stark,” Tony opened his eyes and looked at the doctor, who took his glasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his coat. “I’m afraid despite our best efforts, the impact of the bomb that struck was incredibly severe, and we were left with no choice but to operate on you.”

“I see,” Tony nodded, letting out a steady breath. “well..” He closed his eyes tight for a moment, preparing himself as he slowly opened them, looking down and finding a large white muslin sling sitting on his chest. He looked at it for a moment, trying to move his left arm and failing.

“We had to amputate from just below your elbow,” The doctor explained. “you’re on a lot of painkillers right now, you won’t be able to feel it. As I said, the impact was incredibly severe, and we had no other option.”

“At least I’m still alive,” Tony murmured quietly, sinking back against the pillow. “I should be grateful.” 

“I’ll let you get some rest, a nurse will be by soon.” The doctor gave him a curt nod before walking away, Tony closing his eyes and concentrating on just breathing for a while. Once he’d opened his eyes again he looked around the various beds, some newly made, waiting for the next patient, most filled with a variety of injured soldiers. A couple of nurses were attending to various patients, Tony’s eyes wandering to the top of the room where there were a couple of soldiers standing around talking, including..

Peter.

Tony couldn’t be entirely sure it was him, it had been almost..6 years since they’d seen each other, and Tony wasn’t in his full capacity right then, his head still swimming and heavy. But he could’ve sworn it was Peter. He had the same messy brown curls, albeit much shorter now, gamely trying to be tamed with some gel, the same big brown eyes. He’d grown into his body, he wasn’t tall and awkward like Tony had thought. He was still slim but his uniform fit perfectly, his face looking like it was sculpted by a great master. 

Tony closed his eyes for a moment, trying to process it. 

When he looked back over, Peter, if it had been him at all, was gone. 

-

_ AUGUST 3rd, 1945 _

Peter looked up from the filing cabinet, sighing as he saw the clock still read eleven. He had another long day ahead, but he knew very well how fortunate he was to even be where he was. 

He’d been demobbed from the army the week before, one of the fortunate ones to be released home soon after the process started. Declining the idea of going back to Bibury where there was nothing much there for him anymore, he instead went to London. He found lodgings with a sweet, kind, somewhat eccentric old woman called Mrs. Helena O’Malley who lived in a small, cosy flat above a tea shop. She very graciously put him in touch with her niece, who was working as a secretary at a large insurance company, and who subsequently arranged a job for Peter as a clerk. It wasn’t great pay, or particularly exciting work, but he was immensely grateful for it, well aware it wasn’t so easy for others who’d come home .

He’d written to his mother, promising to visit the following weekend, wanting some time to settle into this new life. It had been an incredibly difficult 6 years, he’d gone from his small village to a war, back in civilian life for the first time, and out on his own for the first time. 

The day passed by slowly, Peter counting down the minutes. That evening he was going out for the first time since he’d been back, a colleague inviting him to an underground club that was apparently much more entertaining than the dance halls as it played American records and had ‘proper’ gin. It had sounded appealing to Peter, jumping at the chance to get out for an evening. He hadn’t slept properly since he’d been back, and he figured he might as well go out and try to enjoy himself rather than laying in bed tossing and turning, sweat pouring down him as he gripped the sheets, waking up in a panic, feeling the weight of a cold body against his own time and time again. 

By the time the day finally ended, Peter found he’d spent most of it lost in thought, as he spent most days. He took the train home, watching the world go by and trying not to concentrate on not missing his stop as he had several times while learning the route. He arrived back at the flat and had dinner with Mrs. O’Malley before heading to his small bedroom and washing up, getting ready to go out. He only had one suit, a simple brown wool jacket and pants with a slightly-off white shirt. 

Mrs. O’Malley had taken one look at him and insisted that there was no way she could let him go out looking like that. She’d made him a cup of tea before heading into her bedroom, emerging fifteen minutes later with a different suit in her hands, navy and well tailored, double breasted compared to the one dangling button on Peter’s own suit. It had belonged to her son, she explained. He’d worn it once for a job interview at a fancy hotel, and then  _ ‘buggered off to America leaving the feckin’ thing here gathering dust.’ _

Peter had quickly been shooed into his room to try on the suit, finding it already fit him much better than his own. He had a quick look in the mirror, grabbing his comb from the dresser and fixing his hair before heading out to the living room, getting a much better reception. 

_ ‘Much better, you’d no chance of meeting someone nice in that other get-up.’ _

_ ‘Yeah..I suppose..girls don’t go in much for the cheap look..’  _

_ ‘The good ones don’t. Nor do the good boys, mind.’ _

_ ‘Oh, I don’t know what you mea..’ _

_ ‘Enjoy yourself, Peter, however you see fit. Get back some of that youth they stole off you.’ _

Peter met with some of his colleagues outside the train station, a group of about six of them, men and women his own age heading off to reclaim their youth.

The club was hard to spot at first and Peter had been a little sceptical when they’d stopped on the street, looking around to see where this club could be. The buildings around them seemed to be a mix of residential houses and a couple of businesses that were closed for the day, no sign of any club. 

As it turned out, the black iron railings behind them and the set of fading yellow brick steps leading down under the buildings above was the entrance. They lead down to a simple black door, one of Peter’s colleagues knocking on it in a particular way before it cracked open, a chain holding it from fully opening. 

Once they had been granted access inside Peter felt himself calm a little more. The music was loud, jazzy and upbeat. Smoke filled the air and there were simple art deco tables placed around the room, circling a large dance floor full of couples swinging each other around. The walls were a deep red, the wooden floor solid under Peter’s feet. It felt relaxed, like everyone was there just to have fun and enjoy themselves for a while.

He loved it.

They found a table and ordered some drinks, talking and laughing for a while before they decided they wanted to have a dance. Well, the others did. Peter was never keen on dancing really. Or maybe it was just that he couldn’t dance with anyone he really wanted to. He watched as the others found partners and moved about with ease on the floor. He sat back in his chair, taking a drink of the (admittedly very good) gin in his hand and looking up for a moment. 

Tony would love it here.

Before he could get too lost down memory lane, he found himself with new, unknown company. 

A pretty brunette who looked about Peter’s age had taken the seat beside him, her elegant features examining the room before her. Her hair was curled in the usual style that most women adopted, half of it draped down her back, the other half elegantly laying down by her chest, some of it falling over the side of her face just enough to make her look slightly mysterious. She was wearing a simple, pretty yellow floral dress, but when Peter looked down he noticed she wasn’t wearing heels like every other girl, she was wearing a pair of dark tan brogues. That wasn’t entirely unusual in itself, but they certainly weren’t common at events like this.

She didn’t say anything, just took a cigarette from her purse and lit it up as a new song started. Peter didn’t say anything either, but his curiosity was high. By the time the song finished and the girl had finished her cigarette she stood, offering her hand to Peter. He hesitated for a moment before taking her hand, the two of them walking to the dancefloor as a slower song began. 

Peter placed his hands carefully on her small waist before taking her hand as they slowly moved. It wasn’t a proper ‘dance’ as it were, but it felt..nice. They didn’t talk at all during the dance, just swayed along to the music in the midst of the smoke, laughter, warmth. After the dance, she’d asked Peter if he wanted to leave, and while he wasn’t entirely sure what she was implying..he agreed.

They ended up in a small cafe, having a cup of tea or five and talking for hours. 

Michelle, or MJ as she preferred to be called, was incredibly smart, witty and sharp. She had a deadpan, slightly sarcastic nature that Peter was thoroughly drawn to, finding himself more comfortable around her than he usually was around women.

She’d spent the war working as a nurse in a hospital in the city, and had moved into private residential care for soldiers. One of her current patients was a young man who had returned from the war severely injured. Despite Peter’s sympathetic reaction, MJ insisted he was just being a baby most of the time and she highly suspected it wasn’t his injury that caused him grief at all, rather something deeper from his past. 

Peter also found that MJ was gay. She was currently living with her parents while she looked for a new flat, and found it a struggle to have to conceal such a huge part of herself. She hated that she had to hide it but she loved her parents and didn’t want to cause a rift between them. Peter found himself opening up about his own sexuality, more than he ever had before. 

He’d known he was gay since he was younger, much younger. He tried not to think about why he knew. 

When they left, walking to the train station, they decided to make a date, totally platonically of course, but Peter was thrilled to have found a kindred spirit

Over the next couple of weeks, Peter and MJ became closer, going out to the cinema, going dancing, walking through the park arm in arm. To anyone else they looked like a sweet young couple, and if MJ’s parents wanted to believe that when Peter came to the house to pick MJ up with a small bunch of wildflowers that they were going out together then that was certainly fine. Even if some of those times they should part ways for a while as MJ visited her girlfriend's flat, Peter picking her up later and taking her home..that was fine too. 

They talked about everything, from their pasts to their war experiences to their hopes for the future, what life would be like in years to come. It was easy, natural. It reminded Peter of how it had been with Tony all those years ago, just feeling so comfortable and at ease around MJ. She made him laugh with her stories about her patient, guilty as he felt about it, but she just had a way of saying things that Peter enjoyed.

One Saturday afternoon, they were strolling through the park, the sun warm and bright in the sky, birds chirping sweetly in the trees. Peter unaware of how small his world was about to become.

_ ‘So I just told him to pour his own tea, he knows he can. He was just in a mood because I asked him where he grew up, just trying to make friendly chat, which I don’t have to, heaven knows, but Tony is just a total pain sometimes.’ _

_ ‘Tony?’  _ Peter had whispered it, his eyes wide.

_ ‘Yes, Tony,’  _ MJ had sighed, frowning slightly before looking at Peter _. ‘why?’  _

_ ‘Nothing,’  _ Peter had shaken his head, his heart beating slightly faster _. ‘Just..knew a Tony once. A long time ago.’ _

_ ‘I see..’  _ MJ’s tone suggested this wasn’t a topic she’d be letting go.

A week later, Peter decided to make another visit to Bibury. He’d been back a couple of times since he returned to England (on his first visit back his mother had just cried and hugged him tight for hours, though he didn’t have any mind to do differently himself) and enjoyed the peacefulness of the village, which sat mostly unchanged. 

He arrived late on Friday night and after his mother insisted on him having dinner he collapsed into his old bed, sleep claiming him quickly and with more ease than it had of late. 

In the morning, while his mother was at work, he went for a walk through the village and down to the lake he and Tony used to frequent. He sat down under the wilting willow tree that still stood, resting against it and smiling to himself as he lost himself in memories of a simpler time.

That afternoon his mother made them a simple dinner and Peter found himself relaxing as they sat by the fire eating. Until the usual question came up.

_ ‘Have you heard from Tony?’ _

_ ‘No, mum. I told you I haven’t seen him since that day in the Medbay. All I heard was that he was discharged honourably. I don't know where he is.’ _

_ ‘He’s most likely in London, Mrs. Jenkins said she heard from him not-’ _

_ ‘Mum, just..leave it. Please.’ _

Tony. Their friendship. That was..something Peter had tried not to think about since..well, he never could forget about it. He’d been..stunned, when Tony kissed him. He thought about it a lot, how it had felt. The relief that Tony maybe reciprocated his feelings. But then..Tony had left Peter alone in the meadow and the next time Peter laid eyes on the boy was in an Italian field hospital.

It had been a shock, like seeing a ghost. Peter had presumed Tony was also in the war, praying every single day that he was okay, that he’d live through it. Come through the other side intact.

Peter had been visiting a friend in the Medbay when he saw the name written on the patient chart the nurse had left sitting on the makeshift desk. He’d walked over to the bed slowly, finding Tony asleep. He looked..the same, in so many ways. But even more handsome, if that was possible.

Then he saw Tony’s injury. 

-

It was a typically bright Saturday morning, late summer, Peter on his way to pick up MJ. When he arrived at her parent’s house however, he found she was in her light blue nurse’s dress, a red cardigan draped over it. She’d had to check in on one of her patients, not having time to change before Peter arrived. Her parents were out, and she quickly brought Peter into the living room, sitting him down on the couch. 

_ ‘You’re Peter Parker, correct?’ _

_ ‘Of course I am. Why?’ _

_ ‘You were best friends with Tony Stark growing up?’ _

_ ‘I..yes, how..did you..’ _

_ ‘Come on, we’re going out.’ _

The heavy, uncomfortable feeling in Peter’s stomach never left as MJ led him to the train station. The journey was over before Peter could even really process what was happening. They soon wound up on a quiet street lined with simple but elegant Georgian houses, most red or brown brick. She walked up the clean white steps of a deep redbrick one, the green door seeming so imposing. MJ reached into her purse, producing a key and pushing the door open, revealing a dark hallway. 

Reluctantly, Peter followed her inside, nodding when she told him to follow him into the kitchen. The hallway led into a small but warm kitchen, stacks of books everywhere, what looked like leftover breakfast things sitting on the small square table, a simple white cloth draped over it. There was what seemed to be jazz music playing softly from the record player in the corner, almost hidden amongst the big leafy green plants. 

_ ‘Sit, make yourself comfortable, I just need to get something.’  _

Peter watched her disappear up a set of stairs, fidgeting slightly as he sat down, hearing noises from upstairs that sounded like MJ talking to someone. After a moment, she came back downstairs alone, frowning back at the staircase. 

_ ‘He’s such a stubborn..here, this is for you.’ _

As she was handing Peter a slightly faded stack of white envelopes, tied together with string, his name and old home address neatly written on the front a loud bang emerged from upstairs followed by a loud curse. 

_ ‘Put those in your jacket. Now.’ _

_ ‘Why?’ _

_ ‘Just do it alright?’ _

_ ‘MJ!’ _

The girl turned her attention to the stairs as her name was yelled, a banging sounding again as Peter’s heart grew tight. He knew that voice. He quickly tucked the letters into his jacket. 

_‘Yes my dear?’_ MJ moved over to the staircase, folding her arms and looking up as a shadowy figure emerged.

_ ‘You took something of mine. I want it back.’ _

_ ‘I did no such thing, are you sure it wasn’t your eyesight that was damaged?’ _

_ ‘MJ.’ _

_ ‘Tony.’ _

Peter felt like his head was spinning, he needed some air. He needed to get out. But he was glued to the chair, frozen. Was it really him?

_‘I should..go.’_ He managed after a moment.

_‘No, stay,’_ MJ turned to him.

_ ‘MJ. You said he was gone. Why is he still here?’ _

Peter’s heart clenched tight as he quickly stood from the chair. Of course Tony didn’t want to see him. This had been a terrible idea, letting MJ drag him here. Before he could stop himself, he walked out of the kitchen, ignoring MJ’s calls as he walked down the hall as fast as he could, leaving the house and not stopping until he got back home. 

Mrs. O’Malley was away for the weekend, visiting her daughter in Manchester, and Peter was relieved to be alone as he arrived back at the flat, breathing for what felt like the first time in years. 

He took a breath as he walked over to the simple dining table, reaching into his jacket and taking out the letters. Were they from Tony? They must have been. Why did MJ give them to him? She couldn’t have seen them, they were sealed up. Faded. Peter made a cup of tea before sitting down at the table, running his fingertips over the envelopes sitting before him, his heart pounding as he gently untied the string.

-

_‘Come on, I can’t stand in the rain forever..’_ Peter muttered to himself, his yellow umbrella just about keeping him dry as he stood on the white steps, knocking on the door again.

He let out a sigh of relief as the door opened slowly, his heart quickly threatening to burst out of his chest as he saw Tony standing before him. He was wearing a simple white shirt and black waistcoat, black trousers. He wasn’t wearing any shoes, bright red socks on his feet. His hair was slightly messy, a loose strand falling into his eyes. 

Before Peter could say anything the door was promptly shut in his face.

Once he managed to get his breath back he knocked again, not stopping until the door opened once more.

_ ‘Can’t you take a hint?’ _

_ 'Apparently not. Let me in or I'm just going to stand here knocking on the door until you do. You know I will.’ _

A pause. 

A sigh.

The door opening.

_ ‘Do you still take sugar in your tea?’ _

_ ‘Yes, but two now. Not one.’  _

_ ‘Okay.’ _

_ ‘This is a nice house.’ _

_ ‘Belonged to my Aunt.’ _

_ ‘Violet?’ _

_ ‘Yeah.’ _

_ ‘I read your letters.’ _

_ ‘I knew MJ took those.’ _

_ ‘Why?’ _

_ ‘Because she’s just got this silly notion tha-’ _

_ ‘No. Why didn’t you send them?’ _

_ ‘I didn’t know your address.’ _

_ ‘My mother would have given them to me. You used my old address, you clearly thought about sending them.’ _

_ ‘Does it matter now?' _

_ ‘Yes.’ _

_ ‘Why? Look at me Peter. I’m..I’m not eighteen anymore. I’m not..me, anymore.’ _

_ ‘I am looking at you, Tony. Is it your arm? Is that what you’re so afraid of? Because I hate to tell you but that sleeve doesn’t hide anything.’ _

_ ‘What are you talking about?’ _

_ ‘I saw you in the Medbay you know. I know what happened.’ _

_ ‘So you know I’m not myself.’ _

_ ‘You look like yourself. You certainly act like it.’ _

_ ‘Mm.’ _

_ ‘I saw it you know. The photo. It was sitting with your things beside your bed. The nurse told me you’d been holding it when they brought you in. I’m glad you kept it.’ _

_ ‘It was a gift, it would’ve been rude not to hold onto it.’ _

_ ‘Well if anyone knows about rudeness..’ _

_ ‘What are you implying?’ _

_ ‘It’s common courtesy,’ Peter stood up from the table, walking over to where Tony was sitting across from him. ‘that when you kiss someone, you give them a chance to kiss you back.’ _

He leaned in, pressing his lips ever so gently against Tony’s. As soon as he felt the other man reciprocate he pulled away with a soft smile.

_ ‘Like that.’ _


End file.
